


"He’s at our other location, the FairyTale"

by 09cityskylights



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Flashback, M/M, Mickey POV, Regret, Sad Mickey, Scenes from the show, Shameless, drugged up ian, follows show, more description, request, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 05:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11457087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/09cityskylights/pseuds/09cityskylights
Summary: Request from Whiskygirl1109 on more in-depth descriptions of poignant scenes from the show: “I'd also like to see this expand more into where Mickey goes to find Ian in the club. Also one of my favorite scenes!”Here you go girl! :)





	"He’s at our other location, the FairyTale"

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Mickey demands, as his sister barges into the bathroom and confronts him while wearing her ridiculous work uniform. Just the sight of it pisses him off.

He had been sitting on the toilet peacefully for the past ten minutes, enjoying one of the few good things life had afforded him, a Marlboro cigarette, when she burst in without knocking and began bitching at him about going to find his ‘boyfriend’.

“Don’t play dumb with me” she answers in disgust, shaking her head. The stuffed squirrel on top of her Waffle Cottage hat seems to wag its tail in agreement with her sentiment. “Ian” she says, and the name he hadn’t heard spoken in months but had thought of so often, makes him freeze for a moment.

“You know you’re the reason that he left” she continues accusingly, “So go find him. I gotta go to work”. There’s a finality in her tone that almost makes him decide not to argue. Almost.

“Not my fucking problem” Mickey answers as casually as he can, light smoke curling up past his face from his forgotten cigarette.

Mandy leans in close, not buying his attitude. “You know what? Nothing’s ever your problem. For once you know, make something your problem”.

She plucks the cigarette from his fingers and walks off with it, leaving Mickey exposed and abandoned with the bathroom door open, without even a fucking cigarette. “The fuck does a squirrel have to do with waffles anyway?” he mutters in annoyance, still perturbed by the stuffed squirrel’s disapproving look.

He hears the front door slam in response.

The newfound silence in the house seems heavy, and Mickey sighs in frustration as he finishes up and flushes the toilet. He pauses at the sink and leans over it, frowning at his reflection in the mirror he had punched into pieces not so long ago, aching and frustrated over missing the redhead that used to live down the street.

At first, he had thought maybe Ian was bluffing when he said he was joining the army, trying to get him to say something that he fucking couldn’t. But the look on his face when he walked away from him said it all, and Mickey knew he was leaving for real. He’d hated himself for being weak every day since then, unwilling to let the words that sat on his tongue leave through his lips.

_“What are you hoping, I tell you not to go? Gonna chase after you like some bitch?”_

_“I didn’t come here for you”._

_“Don’t”._

_“Don’t what?”_

_“Just…”_

He blinks into the mirror at the memory of it. He had let Ian down twice in ways that he apparently could not be forgiven for. Once on the day of his arranged marriage to Svetlana, who is sleeping in his bed at this very moment, pregnant with his supposed child.

_“If you give half a shit about me Mickey, half…don’t do this”._

And once when he couldn’t ask him to stay. He couldn’t admit that he needed Ian, that he wanted him to stay, because what did that say about him? He was exactly what his father hated, exactly what he had sworn to never be for so many nights.

“You’re not gay. You’re not fucking gay”.

But he had paid the price for his inability to voice his feelings. Ian had left without looking back, and Mickey had lived in what felt like a slow-motion world ever since. Days dragged on, and nights were lonelier than they had ever been, even with Svetlana sleeping next to him. Sometime he would drink until he passed out, and pretended the warmth next to him was Ian instead.

But it was never enough, and part of him hated the woman he was forced to share his bed and life with for the role she had played in all of this. Mickey climbs into the shower to clean himself up and think, no longer about the past few agonizing months, but about the present.

Ian’s older brother had seemed to think he might be in some sort of trouble, and now Mandy was concerned too. He didn’t know what exactly he should expect, but he had an address on his phone now from Mandy telling him where to go. Ian apparently worked at this club now, but doing what, he doesn’t know.

He tells himself he’s only going to make sure Ian is okay.

For his family and for Mandy’s sake. Because if he was back, and he hadn’t even bothered to let Mickey know, he must really be over him. And Mickey would have to fucking accept that, because he knows Ian thinks he gave up easily, like he didn’t want this. Like he didn’t want them.

He had been so frustrated that Ian didn’t seem to understand it wasn’t that at all, that he had no fucking choice in the matter. His dad’s word was law in his world, and he couldn’t just blurt out how he fucking felt every minute. He had thought Ian would maybe fucking understand that after seeing him pull a gun on his own son after catching them together, but he was wrong.

The anger towards Ian had faded into sadness, and then back into anger, only directed at himself. He thought he could force himself out of caring, but it didn’t work like that. The only thing he could maybe do now to make it right was to go see Ian, and at least make sure he was safe.

Mickey finishes in the shower after choosing to use his sister’s boyfriend’s cologne soap because it smelled nice. He tells himself he’s only doing that because he’s going to a club and it will be filled with judgemental pricks, but he knows deep down that’s not true.

It’s also not true that he goes through every nice shirt he owns struggling to choose one because he’s picky. He checks his reflection after each one, trying to decide what looks the best on him. What he thinks Ian would find the most attractive. Because if there is any chance of Ian forgiving him…

Is that what he wants? If it is…he wants to up that chance.

After a brief interruption from his incompetent business partner from the Alibi, Mickey heads out from the Milkovich house, determined to find Ian.

He finds the address Mandy had given him, and as he walks inside the club he looks around in annoyance. It is the single most fucking gay place he has ever seen and he doesn’t even want to think about what Ian is fucking doing here to make money.  

Passing by couples making out, attractive bartenders, and sultry lighting, Mickey hears from somewhere behind himself, “Looking fine”. He barely glances over before shooting back, “Fuck off”.

Some fat middle aged prick and his two fag friends are eyeing him like he’s a piece of fucking meat. “I like em rough. I’m Scott, you wanna get out of here?” the large one says playfully, catching his attention.

“No I don’t wanna-“ Mickey has to remind himself why he’s even here in the first place and he shows him the crumpled picture of Ian he had kept hidden for himself until now, “You seen this kid?”

The man looks at the picture dismissively. “Oh. You like them skinny. I could lose thirty pounds if you wanted”.

Mickey looks at him in disgust, “Thirty p- maybe in your ass. Where’s the manager?” The fatass points his finger towards a man near the bar and Mickey hurries away, glad to be done with that fucking nightmare of a conversation.

“Yo. You the manager?” Mickey asks, sauntering up to the hipster looking fucker he was directed to.

“Who’s asking?”

Mickey doesn’t have the patience to play games, and he answers sarcastically. “Since you just saw me speak, I’m gonna take a wild stab it was me. You seen this kid? His name’s Ian”.

The guy looks at Mickey’s photograph that he is once again displaying, “Never saw him before”.

Mickey bites his lip and glances around the club, fairly empty in the early hours of the day. The stupid music and the flashy lights are not helping to ease his tense mood. “Why don’t you take a look again? He used to work here, so I’m pretty sure you have” he says threateningly.

The man waves his hand carelessly, “Look, I can’t keep track of every twink who comes and goes in this place, alright?”

Ignoring the slight to Ian’s appearance, Mickey attempts to keep his cool, still needing an answer. “Okay, this twink went AWOL a couple days ago after your bouncer kicked his brother and kid sister out into the street, you remember that?”

At this point, the manager also appears to be annoyed. “Look you little tweaker, you think you’re the first person to come in here boo-hooing about some cocktail slut who jacked you off in the bathroom told you it was true love, and then disappeared? Trust me, you’re not. So why don’t you just buy yourself a drink and fall in love with somebody else”.

He looks away dismissively and Mickey nods to himself. Okay, there’s no keeping his fucking cool anymore. “You calling me gay?” he asks simply, the calm before the storm.

The manager practically laughs, “Oh please, honey, you make Justin Bieber look straight”. He leans in as he says it, his stupid curled mustache just way too close, and Mickey grabs the back of his head, slamming it down into the bar viciously.

He looks around carefully, lowering his voice as the man begins to bleed onto his precious fucking paperwork that was apparently more important than Ian.

Mickey places the police badge he had stolen down on bar beside the man’s face, now glad he had thought to bring it, “Now, I know you know where he is dickbreath, so you’re gonna tell me, or I’m gonna shut this cumhole down over possession, intent to sell, and prostitution, okay?”

That was all it took. “He’s at our other location, FairyTale, in Boys Town” the man answers, looking around nervously. “Thank you” Mickey says, almost sweetly. He pats the guys face obnoxiously and tugs on his stupid fucking mustache, “Was that so difficult?”

Grabbing his badge before he leaves, Mickey takes off casually as though he had not just assaulted the manager of the club, and continues his search for Ian. 

He’s beginning to get tired and frustrated, like he’s searching for some fucking ghost of the boy he used to l- used to fuck. And at this point he’s not so convinced of why he’s looking anymore, if it’s really for Ian’s family… or if it’s for himself.

By the time he finds the FairyTale, it’s late, and the club is packed. He leaves his jacket by the front door and pays his entrance fee, immediately searching the crowd for Ian as soon as he enters. He’s surrounded by a sea of strangers, gay men seeking a match among the club’s crowd, and the blue lighting throws a cool affect down over every face, making him anxious. Where the fuck is he?

There’s a guy in gold booty shorts dancing right in front of him, but Mickey’s eyes don’t even register the attractive male beside him as he scans the room, looking for only one person in the crowd.

And when he sees him, it’s like time stops for a moment.

There’s no music, there’s no lights. It’s just him and Ian, and the space between them.

His denial over how much he had missed Ian disappears in an instant, as the now familiar ache washes over him in reminder. But when he registers what Ian is doing, after a second or two of his eyes drinking in the sight of him, he fills with jealousy and anger.

Ian’s dancing up on some geriatric viagroid, grinding into his lap like some fucking stripper, and wearing a ridiculous outfit with a feather boa.

This is Ian. But it’s not his Ian. He watches through stunned eyes as Ian stretches up like some sex kitten, putting out his wet tongue for the man to place a pill on it, and Mickey immediately heads for them, putting aside every warning he had put in his head until now.

He smacks the old guy harder than is necessary to get his attention. “Time’s up lovebirds”.

Ian turns to look at who’s interrupting them, and the look on his face once he recognizes Mickey is not encouraging. Shock maybe, at seeing him there. But not happiness. His once vibrant green eyes are dull and glassy from drugs, and are outlined with cheap black makeup that makes him look even more strung out.

The sight makes Mickey’s chest hurt for more reasons than one. They are taking too long just fucking staring at him, so Mickey hits the dude again to get him moving. “That means get the fuck up, it’s my turn”. The man begins to hurry away from his threatening stance, but then turns to get Ian’s attention again. “I’ll look for you later, Curtis” he says suggestively.

Ian rubs at his face and Mickey turns to him in annoyance, raising his dark eyebrow sharply. “Curtis? That your fuckin stage name?” Ian paces there in tight, short black shorts, looking wired. “25 bucks gets you a dance”.

“Excuse me?” Mickey asks in disbelief. “Don’t want a dance got to move on” Ian answers, looking away as if he is more than ready to. “Okay, alright” Mickey says quickly, digging into his pocket. “25 bucks for your ass huh? Never had to pay for that shit before”.

He’d be amused if it weren’t such a fucked-up situation, and it only gets worse when Ian refuses to take the money with his hand, and instead lifts his shirt, inviting Mickey to tuck it into his tiny shorts snugly displaying his package.

It’s not a flirtatious move, but more of a fuck you, which Mickey reads easily. He presses his mouth together in annoyance but shoves the money into Ian’s waistband. The second he lets go of the cash, Ian grabs him by the shirt and strong hands him back towards the leather couch, pushing him down onto it as he straddles his lap.

Mickey’s eyebrows raise in surprise for a moment as Ian more than comfortably begins to grind into his lap. He’s freaked out and turned on at the same time, and he doesn’t know how to feel. Every part of his body is pushing him to grab Ian, kiss him, get more after what seemed like an eternity without, but at the same time, who the fuck is this?

“So how’s your day going so far?” Ian asks by his ear. Mickey immediately frowns.

So he wants to treat him like he doesn’t fucking know him? Like they don’t have a past? Fuck that. Fuck this. His arousal quickly turns to annoyance, “How’s my fucking day going?”

“Having fun?” Ian adds, almost robotically.

“No, I’m not having fun, I spent the whole day looking for your coked-out ass” Mickey answers with agitation, trying to find Ian’s eyes, but they are downcast as he continues to dance on him.

“Your family’s worried about you” Mickey continues, deciding to try another tactic to draw out the old Ian. This had to be a fucking act. Ian pulls off his feather boa and throws it over Mickey’s shoulders, all of sudden climbing off of him. “Hello?” Mickey asks, wondering if he’s all of a sudden gone fucking deaf or he’s just being a dick on purpose.

Ian grabs the boa again and lowers himself back against Mickey again, pressing his ass up against his still semi hard dick. “I can’t talk to you like this” Mickey says, “Can we go outside?” His brain is firing off in two separate directions and it’s giving him a fucking headache. “These fudgepackers have so much snow up your beak you’re tweaking like a little bitch”.

Ian’s dark eyes roll towards him again, “25 bucks only buys you one dance”. He starts to get off and Mickey quickly intercepts, “Okay, then let’s go back to my place and you can sober up a little bit. Catch up or some shit, tell me where you been all this time”.

Ian finishes his dance, completely ignoring everything he had just said, and Mickey’s way of admitting that he had missed him. “That was fun. Find me if you want another one”. He starts to walk away with this pleased sort of expression on his face, like he had done his job well, and Mickey stares at him in disbelief.

Who the fuck is this guy? “Are you fucking kidding me?” Mickey demands, launching from the chair and roughly turning Ian towards him again. Ian’s expression and body language immediately turns meek, and Mickey is taken aback. “Hey, hey”.

At much as it hurts to accept it, Mickey forces the words out, “Look, you don’t wanna hang out with me, that’s fine. You need to call your family. Your dad’s dying”. Ian looks tense and agitated now, like he’s holding something back, and it’s the first glimpse Mickey’s seen of the real Ian underneath the makeup, the lights, and the stage wear.

“Ian…Fiona almost killed Liam”. He didn’t want to throw out that card but he does, and Ian’s eyes finally turn towards him, again hooking the boy he knows is still in there. “Call them” Mickey repeats.

Security then comes up and grabs him, looking at Ian to reassure him. “Is everything okay here, Curtis?” the guy asks. Ian sways his body away from Mickey, clearly done with the conversation. “Everything’s great here Roger”.

“Good. There’s a guy over there who looks like he may want a dance” the man adds pointedly.

Ian just barely glances in Mickey’s direction before he forces his eyes away, nodding. “I’m on it”.

He walks away easily, and Mickey looks after him in disgust. “Yeah okay. Don’t choke on any gray pubes”.

He’s jealous and annoyed, and the bouncer in his face isn’t fucking helping. “Relax shaft, I’m leaving” he tells him, raising his hands to show the big guy he can calm the fuck down. Mickey stalks out of the club and yanks his coat roughly from the rack before heading back into the cold night air, which does nothing to cool his anger off immediately.

He pulls his cigarettes out from his jacket pocket impatiently and shoves one between his lips, drawing in the smoke between agitated breaths.

If Ian is trying to play a fucking game here, he’s winning.

Mickey waits for almost two hours outside of the club, not willing to leave for even a second in case Ian comes out, even though he badly needs to take a piss. He goes through half his pack of cigarettes, grinding each butt into the ground with his heel afterwards like he’s got an issue with them.

Finally, he looks up and sees Ian, with no coat on, just a tank top, and an old creep wrapped around him, rubbing his hands up Ian’s chest, and then licking up his neck. Mickey reaches them right in the middle of the tongue bath and grabs the old fucker by the back of his coat, pulling him roughly off of Ian.

“Why don’t you molest someone your own age you geriatric fuck”.

He slams his fist into the old man’s stomach, making him double over and swear in pain, but Mickey’s actually holding back. He’s seeing fucking red at this point, and this poor fucker is on the receiving end. “God you’re a fucking animal” he chokes out as Mickey grabs him again, closer to the throat this time.

“I’m not the one groping and licking on underage boys am I?” Mickey answers coolly, twisting his scarf to choke him.

“We’re just having fun!” he exclaims, trying to look innocent. “Shut the fuck up” Mickey says loudly, “Now give Curtis some money, before he calls the cops on you”. He doesn’t release his hold on the man, but he watches approvingly as he immediately yanks out his wallet.

“Okay, okay, here! Take-take-“ “Thank you” Mickey interrupts, shoving him away, “Now get the fuck out of here”.

 He sends a nasty kick in the man’s direction as he begins to take off, “Get outta here!” Mickey watches in annoyance as he runs away like a fucking pansy, kicking his legs up like he’s some teenage girl, calling after him “And learn how to run like a dude!”

Sighing and shaking his head, Mickey goes to pick up the dropped bills, knowing Ian will still want to collect even though he interrupted him and his ‘customer’. He only grabs one bill before he glances over to check on Ian, and sees him limp and passed out in the snow, his pale skin touching the white.

The sight makes a heavy feeling form in the pit of his stomach, as he sees how far gone he really is. “Jesus Christ Ian” he mutters, immediately going over to pick him up out of the cold snow. “Hey, hey”.

He can’t wake him up, so he slings the taller boy over his shoulders, surprised by how much lighter Ian is than he remembered. That’s what coke will do.

Ian still hangs limp and heavy over him though, and Mickey grimaces as a few men pass by and look at him curiously. This is not how he pictured having Ian up against his body again. He’s prepared to carry him all the way home, but he sees a car pull up in front of them. “Did you call for Uber?” the man asks with a heavy accent.

Mickey breathes out into the freezing night air. It was too cold to carry Ian home like this.

“Yeah I called for a Uber” he answers, confidently striding over to the car. He shoves Ian in the back of the SUV and climbs in beside him, giving the driver a new address, to his house instead.

He can’t bring himself to even look at Ian on the way over, and instead he just forces himself to look out the window, fighting the tears that are threatening to surface in his blue eyes.

When they get to his house, he carries Ian upstairs to his room without trying to wake him again, because he knows its pointless. He’s too far gone and he needs to fucking sleep it off.

Mickey drops Ian onto his bed carefully and after a moment, sits down across from him with a cigarette, finally allowing himself to look. His eyes rest over Ian’s form, and he feels a peace settle over him as he lets himself accept that Ian is really back, fucked up or not.

And he’s here, in his bed. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever even see him again. “Never should have let you go” he thinks to himself.

He watches Ian sleep peacefully until he feels eyes on him, and he looks up slowly at the doorframe to see Svetlana standing there, wrapped in a towel. Her narrow face is not understanding, and her eyes rise from Ian to him in disapproval.

She slowly lowers her hands down over her baby bump, speaking volumes without saying a word, but Mickey has nothing to say back.

He simply stares in return, feeling the tears prick threateningly at his eyes, but finding nothing to say.

He swallows hard, feeling like he is surrounded by people he’s let down, and he only finds himself truly caring about one of them. Seeing Mickey is not going to move Ian from their bed any time soon, Svetlana purses her lips and leaves the doorway, leaving Mickey alone again with Ian’s unconscious form. Without realizing it, his actions had spoken volumes too.

Mickey rubs his tattooed hand over his face, wondering.

How was he going to fix this?


End file.
